I read an article on MSN today about how there are all these pro-ana sites on the internet (pro-ana means pro-anorexia) that are basically encouraging young women to become anorexic.
Just a little back story on me - I was pretty sick when I was in my senior year of high school and my first year of college. At 6 ft I was all the way down to 120 pounds. It started in my senior year. I'll never forget mornings in drill team when we got weighed in front of the whole team. I am sure I have exaggerated it in my mind, but I remember being the heaviest person on the team every time. It never occured to me that I was at least 6 inches taller than almost everyone. All that mattered was that I was the heaviest.
My "issues" with food continued all through the summer and right into college. I didn't gain the freshman 15 - I lost. I was out of the house with no one to notice whether I ate or not. I used to eat nothing all day and then go down to the football field and run around the stadium for hours. Eventually, people noticed the really low body weight. I will never forget sitting in the kitchen with my Mom and the two of us had a battle of wills over a plate of mashed potatoes. She refused to let me up from the table until I ate a bite. I haven't been skinny since.
Anyway, after reading the article I took to the net and looked at a bunch of the sites they talked about. That led me to myspace and all of the pro-ana sites on here. I had a bizarre response to what I read.
On one hand I was saddened by what some of these people were saying. Their hatred of their bodies and anger toward food. They were putting quotes on their pages that talked about "food is the enemy" and "beautiful doesn't equal food" and a lot of other stuff. They encouraged each other to fast longer and eat fewer calories and congratulated each other on getting under 100 pounds. The strangest part is that every one of them seemed to know that they were slowly starving themselves to death.
On the other hand I was compelled. I wanted to be a member of the club again. I wanted to be able to share my tips and tricks and tell them all about how to eat 200 calories over the course of a day so that you don't get dizzy and faint. I wanted to share my stories about going 5 days on nothing but water and tic-tacs. I found myself sitting in my chair lamenting my lack of control over food. How did I let it win?
What a wierd place to be. I can't help but wonder what this means for me. I do know one thing though...food isn't going to win anymore. I am not going to be fat anymore. This is the end of that road and that's a promise. Right now, at this exact moment, all I can think of is that not so very long ago I had the exact same height, weight and measurements as Elle McPherson. Now I have the same measurements as a refrigerator.
Friday, December 8, 2006
Friday, December 1, 2006
Merry Bleepin' Christmas
Christmas. Again. Seems like it happens every year despite my best efforts at squelching it. Note to self: "Self, find the source of Christmas. Bring napalm."
I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. Mostly hate, but I have moments of love. I love all the old cartoons they show on TV and still get a kick out of the elf who really wants to be a dentist. I hate Christmas music because they start playing it in November. Mostly, it's all the other stuff that really gets to me. I can't stand all the commercialized joy and giving that happens during December while the rest of the year most of the world can't see past the end of their own noses.
I really shouldn't bitch like this every year, but I do it anyway. I think it has something to do with the evil Christmas trolls that come along every December 1st and empty out my bank account. I have money all year long and then December hits and I am inexplicably broke. I think it is one of those mysteries of life that will never be explained. Kind of like the Loch Ness Monster and Republican logic.
I am trying to get into the spirit this year. Drew is almost 4 and he is going to get really into the whole tree and presents thing so that will be fun. I am even going to put the tree up before Christmas Eve so that must mean I am softening at least a little bit. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
I think that this year I feel more contemplative than in years past. I was always just pissed and no amount of Christmas cheer was going to penetrate my aura of bitchy-ness. This year I miss the people who aren't around to throw Christmas music into my circle of contempt. There are a few people I miss and yet don't miss and for some reason this year I almost want to have them back. Maybe I am having my own personal 12-step program and this is the "make amends" step. I don't know what number that is, but it seems like it is probably 10 or so since it is such a tough one.
Now I am getting off track...I need to get off my pity pot and back to bitching about Christmas - it's less painful. For me anyway.
I guess I should just accept the Christmas music and the Christmas lights and the women drivers on a mission to the mall. I should accept the month long ode to greed and excess. I think I will work really hard for this year to not wallow in my pool of disdain and instead try to be calm and introspective.
I'll keep you posted on how that goes.
I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. Mostly hate, but I have moments of love. I love all the old cartoons they show on TV and still get a kick out of the elf who really wants to be a dentist. I hate Christmas music because they start playing it in November. Mostly, it's all the other stuff that really gets to me. I can't stand all the commercialized joy and giving that happens during December while the rest of the year most of the world can't see past the end of their own noses.
I really shouldn't bitch like this every year, but I do it anyway. I think it has something to do with the evil Christmas trolls that come along every December 1st and empty out my bank account. I have money all year long and then December hits and I am inexplicably broke. I think it is one of those mysteries of life that will never be explained. Kind of like the Loch Ness Monster and Republican logic.
I am trying to get into the spirit this year. Drew is almost 4 and he is going to get really into the whole tree and presents thing so that will be fun. I am even going to put the tree up before Christmas Eve so that must mean I am softening at least a little bit. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
I think that this year I feel more contemplative than in years past. I was always just pissed and no amount of Christmas cheer was going to penetrate my aura of bitchy-ness. This year I miss the people who aren't around to throw Christmas music into my circle of contempt. There are a few people I miss and yet don't miss and for some reason this year I almost want to have them back. Maybe I am having my own personal 12-step program and this is the "make amends" step. I don't know what number that is, but it seems like it is probably 10 or so since it is such a tough one.
Now I am getting off track...I need to get off my pity pot and back to bitching about Christmas - it's less painful. For me anyway.
I guess I should just accept the Christmas music and the Christmas lights and the women drivers on a mission to the mall. I should accept the month long ode to greed and excess. I think I will work really hard for this year to not wallow in my pool of disdain and instead try to be calm and introspective.
I'll keep you posted on how that goes.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Do they make pills for this?
In a former life I was a workaholic. I still have workaholic tendencies, but I try to keep it in check. I am not sure I am all that successful at keeping balance, but I try.
I used to work for a company in Seattle that I loved. I lived it, breathed it and every moment was spent either actively working or thinking about work. I was going to be promoted and eventually be elected Queen of the World - it was all fitting nicely into my Master Plan. I gave them all of my energy and attention - to the detriment of all else - for a year.
Then I was fired.
I got fired because I "couldn't effectively communicate with a co-worker" and to avoid delving into deep, dark territory from wence I managed to crawl once I am going to leave it at that. Let's just say it was really crappy and if I had more energy and less dignity I might have done something about it.
That one day sent my life into a tailspin. I didn't understand how one person could so completely derail not just my career, but my life. I have spent every day since then trying to convince myself that I am not a loser, that I do have talent and that I am not going to walk into my office on some random day and be fired because my shoes squeak. I also moved to another state and built an entirely new life because my old one got blasted to smithereens and staying in Seattle was a psychological impossibility.
Since then I had some really great contract gigs and one great job opportunity come my way. I gained some wonderful experience that led me to my current job. I am now an HR and Recruiting Manager for a small firm that is eerily similar to that "other" job I mentioned.
I love my job. I love the partners of the company. I trust that the company is ethical. The problem is that I suffer from a little ailment I lovingly refer to as "isuckitis." I walk into work every day and wonder if today is the day I am going to be sent packing. I work my tail off. I put in 12 hour days. I work from home at night. I have absolutely no indication that anything is wrong. I regularly get kudos for my work, yet I still have this little voice in the back of my head that says it is all going to come crashing down at any moment.
Is it a subconscious way to make myself work harder? Am I a closet sadomasochist? Do I like self-flagellation? Is it a control thing in some bizarre way? I haven't quite figured it out, but you can bet I will sit around and beat myself up trying.
It all just makes me wonder why some of us kill ourselves chasing perfection. Even as I do it I question my motives. Who am I trying to impress?
Why is it that I think I need to prove something, what am I trying to prove and for that matter who am I trying to prove it to? My son doesn't care what my title is - he just wants me to lay on the floor and do a puzzle with him. My husband doesn't care how big my office is - he just wants me to tell him I love him every night. My friends don't care how many deals I closed last week - they just want me to laugh with them over coffee.
So, I ask for what has to be the 973rd time:
How can I cure this? How do I mute that voice and move on from the "episode" and just do the work happily and with gusto instead of expending an inordinate amount of energy waiting for the proverbial pink slip?
Thoughts?
I used to work for a company in Seattle that I loved. I lived it, breathed it and every moment was spent either actively working or thinking about work. I was going to be promoted and eventually be elected Queen of the World - it was all fitting nicely into my Master Plan. I gave them all of my energy and attention - to the detriment of all else - for a year.
Then I was fired.
I got fired because I "couldn't effectively communicate with a co-worker" and to avoid delving into deep, dark territory from wence I managed to crawl once I am going to leave it at that. Let's just say it was really crappy and if I had more energy and less dignity I might have done something about it.
That one day sent my life into a tailspin. I didn't understand how one person could so completely derail not just my career, but my life. I have spent every day since then trying to convince myself that I am not a loser, that I do have talent and that I am not going to walk into my office on some random day and be fired because my shoes squeak. I also moved to another state and built an entirely new life because my old one got blasted to smithereens and staying in Seattle was a psychological impossibility.
Since then I had some really great contract gigs and one great job opportunity come my way. I gained some wonderful experience that led me to my current job. I am now an HR and Recruiting Manager for a small firm that is eerily similar to that "other" job I mentioned.
I love my job. I love the partners of the company. I trust that the company is ethical. The problem is that I suffer from a little ailment I lovingly refer to as "isuckitis." I walk into work every day and wonder if today is the day I am going to be sent packing. I work my tail off. I put in 12 hour days. I work from home at night. I have absolutely no indication that anything is wrong. I regularly get kudos for my work, yet I still have this little voice in the back of my head that says it is all going to come crashing down at any moment.
Is it a subconscious way to make myself work harder? Am I a closet sadomasochist? Do I like self-flagellation? Is it a control thing in some bizarre way? I haven't quite figured it out, but you can bet I will sit around and beat myself up trying.
It all just makes me wonder why some of us kill ourselves chasing perfection. Even as I do it I question my motives. Who am I trying to impress?
Why is it that I think I need to prove something, what am I trying to prove and for that matter who am I trying to prove it to? My son doesn't care what my title is - he just wants me to lay on the floor and do a puzzle with him. My husband doesn't care how big my office is - he just wants me to tell him I love him every night. My friends don't care how many deals I closed last week - they just want me to laugh with them over coffee.
So, I ask for what has to be the 973rd time:
How can I cure this? How do I mute that voice and move on from the "episode" and just do the work happily and with gusto instead of expending an inordinate amount of energy waiting for the proverbial pink slip?
Thoughts?
Monday, October 9, 2006
WARNING: Golf is bad for your self-esteem
I never professed to be the world's greatest sporting enthusiast. I like football. I like soccer. I have been known to watch NASCAR from time to time. I am an avid hockey fan. I don't, however, PLAY any of these sports. I instead chose to play golf. Seems innocuous enough. Beautiful course, sunny day, innocent looking little white ball and me with a big, bad club. I can get used to this!
I did not realize when I started playing golf that it would become an odd little obsession that would lead me to enter the world of grumpy old men with cigars and adult temper tantrums.
I haven't actually played an enormous amount of golf. My Dad and I would go to the driving range together and I went out a few times with co-workers and played 9 holes here and there. When I was pregnant there came a time where I could no longer swing the club and that effectively ended my golf career for a while. I haven't played golf in well over a year, but in my infinite wisdom I decided I was just the girl to join the partners of my current firm in a little charity golf scramble last Friday. Full of hope I headed out to the driving range the night before with clubs in hand and a happy tune in my head.
You know where this is going already, don't you?
My friend, Carrie, agreed to go with me and we got all set up and stretched out and ready to send our bucket of happy, little white friends sailing out into the yonder. Carrie's golf balls each had their maiden flights while mine remained steadfastly grounded. I adjusted my swing. I adjusted my stance. I kept my head down, my eye on the ball and my knees bent and still those little, white orbs mocked me.
One bucket later and my happy tune has changed to the funeral march. My heart races and I spend the entire drive home trying to think of some deadly disease that has sudden onset and vague symptoms. Only 12 hours to go and I will walking up to the first tee of the day. Crap.
Friday dawns bright and sunny (crap) and I feel wonderfully healthy (crap). I get dressed in my golf pants, golf shirt, golf shoes, ball cap and off I go. No 10 car pile up on the freeway (crap) and I arrive at the course in plenty of time to sign in (crap) and find the little cart with my name on it (double crap - they have my NAME on it so everyone will know who I am). My team-mates arrive and after the usual annoucements about the charity we are supporting and the rules of the scramble we set out for our tee. We tee'd off at hole 13 (how is that for an omen) and surprisingly I had a great drive. It was about 150 yards, straight down the fairway and I am feeling pretty good.
That was the last good drive I had all day.
I think my next best drive dropped from the sky after about 100 yards and that is being generous. I did have one really great shot where the ball hit the water, skipped three times, bounced up onto the fairway and went about 50 yards. The downside to that stroke of genius was that my team called me Skipper for the rest of the day. I think I may have a hat made with that on it or have it stiched onto a polo shirt.
So...what did I learn during my latest golfing adventure?
1. I learned not to volunteer for charity scrambles unless I am given 18 mulligans right at the start.
2. I learned that the West Nile virus has sudden onset and vague symptoms (won't catch me unprepared again, suckers).
3. I learned that I am a crack shot with a pitching wedge.
4. I learned that there is no such thing as self-esteem in golf.
That little ball looks innocent...oh, yes...it does. But don't be fooled. That little sucker is like those Happy Bunny shirts that have the cute little pink bunny on the front and then the message is something really tacky like, "you smell like butt." Well, I smelled like butt on Friday and those stupid balls made sure I knew about it.
I am going to the driving range this week. I am going to defeat those little, white bastards if it is the last thing I do. I may have had the last shred of dignity sucked from my body...I may even have had a couple of tears on the 15th green...but I am not broken - oh, no - not broken. I will prevail!!!
I did not realize when I started playing golf that it would become an odd little obsession that would lead me to enter the world of grumpy old men with cigars and adult temper tantrums.
I haven't actually played an enormous amount of golf. My Dad and I would go to the driving range together and I went out a few times with co-workers and played 9 holes here and there. When I was pregnant there came a time where I could no longer swing the club and that effectively ended my golf career for a while. I haven't played golf in well over a year, but in my infinite wisdom I decided I was just the girl to join the partners of my current firm in a little charity golf scramble last Friday. Full of hope I headed out to the driving range the night before with clubs in hand and a happy tune in my head.
You know where this is going already, don't you?
My friend, Carrie, agreed to go with me and we got all set up and stretched out and ready to send our bucket of happy, little white friends sailing out into the yonder. Carrie's golf balls each had their maiden flights while mine remained steadfastly grounded. I adjusted my swing. I adjusted my stance. I kept my head down, my eye on the ball and my knees bent and still those little, white orbs mocked me.
One bucket later and my happy tune has changed to the funeral march. My heart races and I spend the entire drive home trying to think of some deadly disease that has sudden onset and vague symptoms. Only 12 hours to go and I will walking up to the first tee of the day. Crap.
Friday dawns bright and sunny (crap) and I feel wonderfully healthy (crap). I get dressed in my golf pants, golf shirt, golf shoes, ball cap and off I go. No 10 car pile up on the freeway (crap) and I arrive at the course in plenty of time to sign in (crap) and find the little cart with my name on it (double crap - they have my NAME on it so everyone will know who I am). My team-mates arrive and after the usual annoucements about the charity we are supporting and the rules of the scramble we set out for our tee. We tee'd off at hole 13 (how is that for an omen) and surprisingly I had a great drive. It was about 150 yards, straight down the fairway and I am feeling pretty good.
That was the last good drive I had all day.
I think my next best drive dropped from the sky after about 100 yards and that is being generous. I did have one really great shot where the ball hit the water, skipped three times, bounced up onto the fairway and went about 50 yards. The downside to that stroke of genius was that my team called me Skipper for the rest of the day. I think I may have a hat made with that on it or have it stiched onto a polo shirt.
So...what did I learn during my latest golfing adventure?
1. I learned not to volunteer for charity scrambles unless I am given 18 mulligans right at the start.
2. I learned that the West Nile virus has sudden onset and vague symptoms (won't catch me unprepared again, suckers).
3. I learned that I am a crack shot with a pitching wedge.
4. I learned that there is no such thing as self-esteem in golf.
That little ball looks innocent...oh, yes...it does. But don't be fooled. That little sucker is like those Happy Bunny shirts that have the cute little pink bunny on the front and then the message is something really tacky like, "you smell like butt." Well, I smelled like butt on Friday and those stupid balls made sure I knew about it.
I am going to the driving range this week. I am going to defeat those little, white bastards if it is the last thing I do. I may have had the last shred of dignity sucked from my body...I may even have had a couple of tears on the 15th green...but I am not broken - oh, no - not broken. I will prevail!!!
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Ridicule disguised as healthcare
I think I am pretty realistic about my body. I am not presenting my inner Kate Moss to the viewing public, but I am not exactly Carnie Wilson on dollar day at Burger Heaven either. In my latest quest to return to my high school physique I have taken up running - well, not running exactly...more like cursing while moving quickly down the street.
Anyway, I have a long history of knee problems and after two surgeries I am a little nervous about screwing my knees up for eternity. Even after $100+ running shoes and 3 months of strength training specifically designed to firm up calves, hamstrings and quads I am still having a hard time keeping my knees on board with the marathon training regimen. I finally decided to go and see an orthopedic surgeon just to make sure I am not running myself right into a wheelchair.
I got a referral from my family doctor and made my appointment. I got my records sent down from the last ortho to hack on me and I was set to go. I went into the clinic all filled with optimism that I was going to be praised for my newfound attention to my health and given a pat on the back and a clean bill of health. Little did I know my self-esteem had approximately 31 minutes left to live.
I go back to an exam room with the perky little assistant and she asks me perky little questions and writes my answers down with her perky little pen and then she perkily announces that the x-tech will be right with me. The not quite so perky x-ray tech lumbers in and off we go for a round of pictures where I am forced to contort into bizarre shapes and then hold "very still" for what seems an eternity. X-rays done and off I go to wait for the doctor.
In he comes - firm grip, big biceps, white teeth. I wasn't sure if he was the doctor or if I was being Punk'd. Have you ever noticed that orthopedic surgeons always seem to look like NFL quarterback rejects? Do you think they have a medical school specifically for the pretty boys that didn't quite make it in pro sports? Nevermind...I digress...
So, the poster boy for Surgeons Who Pump Iron Magazine starts asking me questions...what kind of pain? when? where? how bad? how often? etc. He tells me how my x-rays look great and the last surgeon did a really great job. I am feeling pretty darn good at this point...no surgery! Yea me!
He asks about my activity level and I proudly begin to tell him how I have this trainer, blah, blah, blah and we are working on leg strengthening, blah, blah, blah and how I have lost 7% body fat and a whole pant size, blah, blah, blah and how I am training for a marathon, blah, blah, blah. See me? Proud little monkey...good monkey...monkey eat banana and swing from vine...
Oh yeah...this is where my self-esteem goes on to the next life...
Mister "I have big pecs" utters the following words...
"What are you doing coming in here at 6 foot and 230 pounds and telling me you are on a running program? That is the worst thing someone your size can do for their knees. Have you seen what runners look like? They don't look like you. When you can come in here at 6 foot and 155 then we'll talk about a running program. You should try swimming."
I'll pause here while you either pick up your jaw or stop laughing.
It's ok...I'll wait.
OK...picture me...too stunned to speak...stupid grin on my face and still on a high from my "I'm working out" speech and Dr. "You aren't a size 2 so you must be punished" walks out the door. His perky little assistant hands me a "prescription" that tells me to wear a knee support and to try swimming for aerobic exercise and then scoots her size 4 ass out the door.
I wanted to scream out into the hallway and say...Do you think I don't own a mirror? I buy my own clothes you Ass Goblin and I am perfectly aware they aren't a size 4. I get the fact that I need to shave some poundage off - THUS THE EXERCISE you pompous jackass. I spent the next few days formulating a strongly worded letter to him that basically said "thanks for the encouragement, Dr. 'Skipped Class on Good Bedside Manner Day.' Brace yourself 'cause all you did was piss me off and now I am even more determined to finish that marathon so the next time the pictures on your wall start to shake you sit back and rest easy in the knowledge that it is just my enormous girth pounding down the street and not an earthquake."
So...I'll stick to it and I promise to send everyone a pic from the finish line because I am going to do it. I will do it. That marathon is MINE!!!!
Anyway, I have a long history of knee problems and after two surgeries I am a little nervous about screwing my knees up for eternity. Even after $100+ running shoes and 3 months of strength training specifically designed to firm up calves, hamstrings and quads I am still having a hard time keeping my knees on board with the marathon training regimen. I finally decided to go and see an orthopedic surgeon just to make sure I am not running myself right into a wheelchair.
I got a referral from my family doctor and made my appointment. I got my records sent down from the last ortho to hack on me and I was set to go. I went into the clinic all filled with optimism that I was going to be praised for my newfound attention to my health and given a pat on the back and a clean bill of health. Little did I know my self-esteem had approximately 31 minutes left to live.
I go back to an exam room with the perky little assistant and she asks me perky little questions and writes my answers down with her perky little pen and then she perkily announces that the x-tech will be right with me. The not quite so perky x-ray tech lumbers in and off we go for a round of pictures where I am forced to contort into bizarre shapes and then hold "very still" for what seems an eternity. X-rays done and off I go to wait for the doctor.
In he comes - firm grip, big biceps, white teeth. I wasn't sure if he was the doctor or if I was being Punk'd. Have you ever noticed that orthopedic surgeons always seem to look like NFL quarterback rejects? Do you think they have a medical school specifically for the pretty boys that didn't quite make it in pro sports? Nevermind...I digress...
So, the poster boy for Surgeons Who Pump Iron Magazine starts asking me questions...what kind of pain? when? where? how bad? how often? etc. He tells me how my x-rays look great and the last surgeon did a really great job. I am feeling pretty darn good at this point...no surgery! Yea me!
He asks about my activity level and I proudly begin to tell him how I have this trainer, blah, blah, blah and we are working on leg strengthening, blah, blah, blah and how I have lost 7% body fat and a whole pant size, blah, blah, blah and how I am training for a marathon, blah, blah, blah. See me? Proud little monkey...good monkey...monkey eat banana and swing from vine...
Oh yeah...this is where my self-esteem goes on to the next life...
Mister "I have big pecs" utters the following words...
"What are you doing coming in here at 6 foot and 230 pounds and telling me you are on a running program? That is the worst thing someone your size can do for their knees. Have you seen what runners look like? They don't look like you. When you can come in here at 6 foot and 155 then we'll talk about a running program. You should try swimming."
I'll pause here while you either pick up your jaw or stop laughing.
It's ok...I'll wait.
OK...picture me...too stunned to speak...stupid grin on my face and still on a high from my "I'm working out" speech and Dr. "You aren't a size 2 so you must be punished" walks out the door. His perky little assistant hands me a "prescription" that tells me to wear a knee support and to try swimming for aerobic exercise and then scoots her size 4 ass out the door.
I wanted to scream out into the hallway and say...Do you think I don't own a mirror? I buy my own clothes you Ass Goblin and I am perfectly aware they aren't a size 4. I get the fact that I need to shave some poundage off - THUS THE EXERCISE you pompous jackass. I spent the next few days formulating a strongly worded letter to him that basically said "thanks for the encouragement, Dr. 'Skipped Class on Good Bedside Manner Day.' Brace yourself 'cause all you did was piss me off and now I am even more determined to finish that marathon so the next time the pictures on your wall start to shake you sit back and rest easy in the knowledge that it is just my enormous girth pounding down the street and not an earthquake."
So...I'll stick to it and I promise to send everyone a pic from the finish line because I am going to do it. I will do it. That marathon is MINE!!!!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Idiots of the world UNITE!!
I want to say for what has to be the ten billionth time that I have some really great friends. I am very, very lucky and if I had enough time and space I would list each and everyone of you by name. I am not going to do that because I have neither time nor space and to add insult to injury I have too short of an attention span.
My point for blogging about friends again is to ask a question...
WHY IS IT THAT AS A "BEST FRIEND" YOU HAVE THE DISTINCT HONOR OF BEING EXPECTED TO TELL YOUR "BEST FRIEND" ALL OF THE CRAPPY STUFF NO ONE ELSE HAS THE GUTS TO TELL HER AND WHEN YOU DO TELL HER SHE ENDS UP HATING YOU AND HANGING OUT WITH ALL THE PEOPLE WHO ARE LYING AND TALKING ABOUT HER BEHIND HER BACK?
By way of explanation: I have a "best friend" (or as it is beginning to look - I HAD a "best friend") that began dating a new guy a few months back. Long, stupid story short he is an idiot. Everyone thinks he is an idiot. Everyone talks about what an idiot he is when the two of them aren't around. Everyone quietly talks about what an idiot he is when they are around. No one wants him around. I guess I must be a bigger idiot than he is because I told my "best friend" the truth about what everyone is saying behind her back.
I guess the upside is that I don't have to hang out with the idiot or in anyway subject myself to his idiot ways. It's kind of a relief actually. The thing that really chaps my ass is that I really do miss my friend. My friend from BEFORE the idiot. One of the bigger downsides of this particular idiot is that my friend also became kind of an idiot. She is a TOTALLY DIFFERENT PERSON since she met him. I am all about change and personal growth, but let's try and keep it positive, shall we?
Anyway, I wish I could have my friend back. I also wish pigmy elves would do my dishes every night after I go to bed, but that ain't happenin' either.
My point for blogging about friends again is to ask a question...
WHY IS IT THAT AS A "BEST FRIEND" YOU HAVE THE DISTINCT HONOR OF BEING EXPECTED TO TELL YOUR "BEST FRIEND" ALL OF THE CRAPPY STUFF NO ONE ELSE HAS THE GUTS TO TELL HER AND WHEN YOU DO TELL HER SHE ENDS UP HATING YOU AND HANGING OUT WITH ALL THE PEOPLE WHO ARE LYING AND TALKING ABOUT HER BEHIND HER BACK?
By way of explanation: I have a "best friend" (or as it is beginning to look - I HAD a "best friend") that began dating a new guy a few months back. Long, stupid story short he is an idiot. Everyone thinks he is an idiot. Everyone talks about what an idiot he is when the two of them aren't around. Everyone quietly talks about what an idiot he is when they are around. No one wants him around. I guess I must be a bigger idiot than he is because I told my "best friend" the truth about what everyone is saying behind her back.
I guess the upside is that I don't have to hang out with the idiot or in anyway subject myself to his idiot ways. It's kind of a relief actually. The thing that really chaps my ass is that I really do miss my friend. My friend from BEFORE the idiot. One of the bigger downsides of this particular idiot is that my friend also became kind of an idiot. She is a TOTALLY DIFFERENT PERSON since she met him. I am all about change and personal growth, but let's try and keep it positive, shall we?
Anyway, I wish I could have my friend back. I also wish pigmy elves would do my dishes every night after I go to bed, but that ain't happenin' either.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Air Travel and You: Are delays a curse or a PLAN?
I can NEVER fly without my flight being delayed. My name on any passenger manifest means delays, cancellations, merged flights, overbookings and just about every other type of airline irritation you can think of. I was supposed to be taking off NOW...right NOW...and I am sitting here typing rants to you people. Delayed again.
I wonder - is this the airline industry's way of just beating us down? Do they think that if they overprice the tickets, under offer on hospitality and create tons of fiery hoops for us to jump through that by the time we actually take off we will just smile gratefully and accept our tiny cup of Coke and tinier bag of honey roasted nuts? Is this how the airline industry keeps us complacent? through frustration? It's a pretty good plan actually - I find myself THANKING the surly gate agent for taking my boarding pass with disdain and pointing vaguely at the aircraft sitting in rows out on the puddle-jumper pad. I am almost climbing over the person next to me to shake the flight attendant's hand for shoving a bag in my face and barking, "TRASH" at me as we descend. Ahhh - if only I could find a way to implement this brilliant plan in my own life.
This topic could lead us right into a political discussion of how the entire government's plan is to keep Americans fat and happy while we eat our Super-sized Big Mac meals and watch shows like Friends that keep us laughing and not paying attention to the horrors going on around us. They keep telling us how righteous we all are as we drive our SUVs around listening to bubble gum pop on the radio and talk on our cell phones about the latest sale at Macy's. They over tax us and underpay us and keep us wallowing in the shit stew they have built for us and we freaking THANK THEM for flying the Stars and Bars and playing the national anthem before the Seahawks game. I never really thought of myself as a political person. I never really cared to be really honest, but TODAY I am not content sitting back and listening to all the bullshit they pump down to us. As my dear and brilliant friend Jenny so eloquently states: "I love my country. I just think we should see other people."
I wonder - is this the airline industry's way of just beating us down? Do they think that if they overprice the tickets, under offer on hospitality and create tons of fiery hoops for us to jump through that by the time we actually take off we will just smile gratefully and accept our tiny cup of Coke and tinier bag of honey roasted nuts? Is this how the airline industry keeps us complacent? through frustration? It's a pretty good plan actually - I find myself THANKING the surly gate agent for taking my boarding pass with disdain and pointing vaguely at the aircraft sitting in rows out on the puddle-jumper pad. I am almost climbing over the person next to me to shake the flight attendant's hand for shoving a bag in my face and barking, "TRASH" at me as we descend. Ahhh - if only I could find a way to implement this brilliant plan in my own life.
This topic could lead us right into a political discussion of how the entire government's plan is to keep Americans fat and happy while we eat our Super-sized Big Mac meals and watch shows like Friends that keep us laughing and not paying attention to the horrors going on around us. They keep telling us how righteous we all are as we drive our SUVs around listening to bubble gum pop on the radio and talk on our cell phones about the latest sale at Macy's. They over tax us and underpay us and keep us wallowing in the shit stew they have built for us and we freaking THANK THEM for flying the Stars and Bars and playing the national anthem before the Seahawks game. I never really thought of myself as a political person. I never really cared to be really honest, but TODAY I am not content sitting back and listening to all the bullshit they pump down to us. As my dear and brilliant friend Jenny so eloquently states: "I love my country. I just think we should see other people."
Friday, September 8, 2006
Is this relief or gas?
I survived another surgery. Queasily, grumpily, unhappily. But, survived.
I got really sick this time from the anesthesia and what should have been 2 hours in recovery became almost 5 hours in recovery because I was so nauseated. They gave me something to help, but all it did was knock me out. I have this vague memory of the nurse coming and telling me I had to wake up and then nothing. Later, when the nurse informed me how much longer than normal I had been taking up space, I began to feel guilty for being sick. I mean, come on...I just had an ORGAN REMOVED and I am feeling guilty for not wanting to get out of bed!! What is wrong with this picture?! I dozed off for what felt like hours and then buzzed the nurse to tell her I was ready to get dressed and leave. She stomped in, rolled her eyes, told me in a very exasperated tone that "it has only been 5 minutes since she hung a new fluid bag for me" and I needed to get at least half of it in before I left.
Sheesh - are you supposed to be a nurse if taking care of your patients is an inconvenience?
On top of that, the doctor never came in to tell Eric or me how the surgery went. I am assuming it went fine since I am still breathing, but there is that other thought train that makes me wonder if he is avoiding telling me that he accidentally took out my spleen.
We finally got home last night at 5 and I slept right up until 9 this morning. That was good and not so good. Here is a little tip for you...when you have surgery in your abdomen they pump your belly full of air. Side effect number 1 is really embarrassing burping and farting that you can't control. Side effect number 2 is that if you don't move around enough and work all that air out of your body it starts moving around inside you looking for a way out and it tends to pool up in your shoulders. When that happens you get really bad cramps and sharp pains in your neck and shoulders. Well...welcome to my latest hell. I woke up this morning literally screaming because I couldn't turn my head without excrutiating pain in my shoulder. It has gotten better as the day has gone on and heating pads really help.
Overall - not a good experience. My abdomen is so sore that my current greatest fear is sneezing. It makes my eyes water just thinking about it! I am going to be ok though. I better suck it up quick because pain or no pain I have a business trip next week and get on a plane at 9:15 Monday morning. Happy 9/11 traveling!
So - no more gallbladder blogging. I promise. I am as sick of my organs as I am sure the rest of you are. Next week I will blog about business travel, rental cars and returning to the city where your ex-husband and his new wife (your ex-roommate) live. Ahhh...memories.
I got really sick this time from the anesthesia and what should have been 2 hours in recovery became almost 5 hours in recovery because I was so nauseated. They gave me something to help, but all it did was knock me out. I have this vague memory of the nurse coming and telling me I had to wake up and then nothing. Later, when the nurse informed me how much longer than normal I had been taking up space, I began to feel guilty for being sick. I mean, come on...I just had an ORGAN REMOVED and I am feeling guilty for not wanting to get out of bed!! What is wrong with this picture?! I dozed off for what felt like hours and then buzzed the nurse to tell her I was ready to get dressed and leave. She stomped in, rolled her eyes, told me in a very exasperated tone that "it has only been 5 minutes since she hung a new fluid bag for me" and I needed to get at least half of it in before I left.
Sheesh - are you supposed to be a nurse if taking care of your patients is an inconvenience?
On top of that, the doctor never came in to tell Eric or me how the surgery went. I am assuming it went fine since I am still breathing, but there is that other thought train that makes me wonder if he is avoiding telling me that he accidentally took out my spleen.
We finally got home last night at 5 and I slept right up until 9 this morning. That was good and not so good. Here is a little tip for you...when you have surgery in your abdomen they pump your belly full of air. Side effect number 1 is really embarrassing burping and farting that you can't control. Side effect number 2 is that if you don't move around enough and work all that air out of your body it starts moving around inside you looking for a way out and it tends to pool up in your shoulders. When that happens you get really bad cramps and sharp pains in your neck and shoulders. Well...welcome to my latest hell. I woke up this morning literally screaming because I couldn't turn my head without excrutiating pain in my shoulder. It has gotten better as the day has gone on and heating pads really help.
Overall - not a good experience. My abdomen is so sore that my current greatest fear is sneezing. It makes my eyes water just thinking about it! I am going to be ok though. I better suck it up quick because pain or no pain I have a business trip next week and get on a plane at 9:15 Monday morning. Happy 9/11 traveling!
So - no more gallbladder blogging. I promise. I am as sick of my organs as I am sure the rest of you are. Next week I will blog about business travel, rental cars and returning to the city where your ex-husband and his new wife (your ex-roommate) live. Ahhh...memories.
Friday, September 1, 2006
Musings...or something kinda like that...
Ahhhh - Friday. Fridays are good days and I am really glad that this one decided to show up when it did cause I really needed one.
Eric and I tend to carpool together on Fridays so I get to work at about 6:45 am - WAY earlier than I normally do. I hate sitting in the office that early so I start my day downtown at the Dawsons - which for the record has the best coffee around - and then walk across the street and go up to the office.
This morning I came in and staked out a table, read my book for a while, drank my latte, ate my pastry and watched the world go by. At about 8 I started the little internal dialogue that always happens on Friday mornings - "Do I sit here til 9 when people actually expect me or do I go ahead and work? Do I just plug in here and work or do I try for respectability and go sit at my desk?" I finally decided to plug in at Dawson's and work from my cozy little table with an awesome view of the door. It is now about 2:15 and I am still here. It's been great - I have gotten a ton of work done since no one can walk in and ask me to do more stuff.
Here are some of the things I have experienced during my coffeehouse work day:
1. 6 old men at the table next to me talking about sports
2. A guy buying coffee that looks so much like Steve Buscemi that I almost asked for his autograph. He even had the funky teeth.
3. A couple making out in the corner
4. A line of patrons out the door that all looked very irritated and merely moments from lighting torches
5. A really cute guy wearing scrubs that winked at me while adding sugar to his coffee
6. A gaggle of really skinny blonde chicks that ordered 1 non-fat latte - no kidding - ONE LATTE for 5 anorexic blonde chicks
7. A short fat guy that went to the bathroom 4 times in half an hour
8. A really cute professional looking fellow hitting on the barista who was so completely oblivious that I wanted to scream FIRE just to put the poor guy out of his misery.
What a fun little viewpoint on the world. I tell you what - I LOVE having an office right downtown. It has been a constant education - I have expanded my worldview as I am now much more aware of the sheer volume of homeless people, punk skaters and bored, rich, skinny trophy wives with nothing to do but drink martinis at Red Feather.
Ahhhh - Life.
Eric and I tend to carpool together on Fridays so I get to work at about 6:45 am - WAY earlier than I normally do. I hate sitting in the office that early so I start my day downtown at the Dawsons - which for the record has the best coffee around - and then walk across the street and go up to the office.
This morning I came in and staked out a table, read my book for a while, drank my latte, ate my pastry and watched the world go by. At about 8 I started the little internal dialogue that always happens on Friday mornings - "Do I sit here til 9 when people actually expect me or do I go ahead and work? Do I just plug in here and work or do I try for respectability and go sit at my desk?" I finally decided to plug in at Dawson's and work from my cozy little table with an awesome view of the door. It is now about 2:15 and I am still here. It's been great - I have gotten a ton of work done since no one can walk in and ask me to do more stuff.
Here are some of the things I have experienced during my coffeehouse work day:
1. 6 old men at the table next to me talking about sports
2. A guy buying coffee that looks so much like Steve Buscemi that I almost asked for his autograph. He even had the funky teeth.
3. A couple making out in the corner
4. A line of patrons out the door that all looked very irritated and merely moments from lighting torches
5. A really cute guy wearing scrubs that winked at me while adding sugar to his coffee
6. A gaggle of really skinny blonde chicks that ordered 1 non-fat latte - no kidding - ONE LATTE for 5 anorexic blonde chicks
7. A short fat guy that went to the bathroom 4 times in half an hour
8. A really cute professional looking fellow hitting on the barista who was so completely oblivious that I wanted to scream FIRE just to put the poor guy out of his misery.
What a fun little viewpoint on the world. I tell you what - I LOVE having an office right downtown. It has been a constant education - I have expanded my worldview as I am now much more aware of the sheer volume of homeless people, punk skaters and bored, rich, skinny trophy wives with nothing to do but drink martinis at Red Feather.
Ahhhh - Life.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Hernia? Gallbladder? Yeah - I can see how those get mixed up...
I am convinced that doctors are nothing but highly paid witch doctors that know a few big words. I also think I need to find a new one. My doctor confused a sick gallbladder with a hernia.
Hernia - Gallbladder
Hernia - Gallbladder
Those are close...right? One is a hole in the abdominal wall and the other is an actual organ commonly found in the human body. Yeah. Very close.
Regardless - the "hernia" is really my gallbladder and I have to have it removed next Thursday. That will be fun. Four incisions in my abdomen - I wonder if I could talk them into removing some fat along with the gallbladder. I mean...if one doctor can confuse it for a hernia then the surgeon is sure to be able to tell the insurance company that all the fat looked confusingly like my gallbladder and by the time they realized their mistake all my belly fat had already been removed.
That's realistic - right?! Anyway, I will let you know how it goes. I hope they don't accidentally confuse my gallbladder with something important and remove the wrong organ...
Hernia - Gallbladder
Hernia - Gallbladder
Those are close...right? One is a hole in the abdominal wall and the other is an actual organ commonly found in the human body. Yeah. Very close.
Regardless - the "hernia" is really my gallbladder and I have to have it removed next Thursday. That will be fun. Four incisions in my abdomen - I wonder if I could talk them into removing some fat along with the gallbladder. I mean...if one doctor can confuse it for a hernia then the surgeon is sure to be able to tell the insurance company that all the fat looked confusingly like my gallbladder and by the time they realized their mistake all my belly fat had already been removed.
That's realistic - right?! Anyway, I will let you know how it goes. I hope they don't accidentally confuse my gallbladder with something important and remove the wrong organ...
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Expired Warranty
Do you know how it is when you buy a new car and just after your warranty expires the whole thing falls apart? I think that is happening to my body...I really should have bought the extended warranty.
I hate going to the doctor and tend to put it off as long as possible. I save up all my health complaints and then go in with a list of questions and requests. I have been having this weird pain on my right side just under my ribcage and I ignored it since it started back in June. I have been working out with a trainer and even started a running program so, naturally, I began having problems with my knees. Any of you who know me know that I have really bad knees and I am not a stranger to knee surgery.
So, yesterday I visited my family doctor and left with a list of referrals. I had to go see the Gyno today - that is always a joyous, special occasion that luckily only happens once a year or so. I even managed to escape that one without my feet ever having touched a stirrup. Yea me!
On Monday I go to the surgeon because that odd little pain in my belly ended up being a hernia. A HERNIA PEOPLE. I am not entirely sure what I do that could cause a hernia, but I have one. If that doesn't make you feel old and decrepit nothing will.
On Tuesday I get to visit the orthopaedic specialist who, I am sure, will be thrilled to hack on my knees again. Ahhh - good times.
So, I know have 2, possibly 3, surgeries in my forseeable future. The upside is pain meds - the downside is everything else. To add insult to injury I am currently sitting in my recliner, watching cartoons with Drew and fighting a fever, nausea, pain in my side and a nasty case of sinus congestion. My warranty has definitely expired.
I should count myself lucky because there are far worse things I could be facing, but that doesn't bring a lot of comfort at the moment. I really just want a big dose of Advil, a warm bed, a good movie and a backrub. I need to be pampered because I feel really terrible and I am a big ole baby when I am sick. I am also starting to wonder if my hernia has exploded - or whatever hernias do - and I am now going to die. Say it with me now - PARANOID!!
I hate going to the doctor and tend to put it off as long as possible. I save up all my health complaints and then go in with a list of questions and requests. I have been having this weird pain on my right side just under my ribcage and I ignored it since it started back in June. I have been working out with a trainer and even started a running program so, naturally, I began having problems with my knees. Any of you who know me know that I have really bad knees and I am not a stranger to knee surgery.
So, yesterday I visited my family doctor and left with a list of referrals. I had to go see the Gyno today - that is always a joyous, special occasion that luckily only happens once a year or so. I even managed to escape that one without my feet ever having touched a stirrup. Yea me!
On Monday I go to the surgeon because that odd little pain in my belly ended up being a hernia. A HERNIA PEOPLE. I am not entirely sure what I do that could cause a hernia, but I have one. If that doesn't make you feel old and decrepit nothing will.
On Tuesday I get to visit the orthopaedic specialist who, I am sure, will be thrilled to hack on my knees again. Ahhh - good times.
So, I know have 2, possibly 3, surgeries in my forseeable future. The upside is pain meds - the downside is everything else. To add insult to injury I am currently sitting in my recliner, watching cartoons with Drew and fighting a fever, nausea, pain in my side and a nasty case of sinus congestion. My warranty has definitely expired.
I should count myself lucky because there are far worse things I could be facing, but that doesn't bring a lot of comfort at the moment. I really just want a big dose of Advil, a warm bed, a good movie and a backrub. I need to be pampered because I feel really terrible and I am a big ole baby when I am sick. I am also starting to wonder if my hernia has exploded - or whatever hernias do - and I am now going to die. Say it with me now - PARANOID!!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Rant for July
Isn't is strange how we can have all things going fine and still feel like the world is about to drop on our heads? Maybe I just have too much going on. If you know me you know that is generally the case. I tend to overbook and then kill myself to deliver. I should really work on altering that behavior.
I have two weeks of grad school left and this week is when I have to turn in my final project. The major, been working on it for 15 weeks, majority of my grade project. It just so happens that my professor for this class is an idiot who grades completely unfairly in some childish attempt to keep us lowly students in our place. I just know that I am going to lose points because he dislikes my word choice or thinks I should have started a new paragraph. Add that to the fact that all grading is subjective and we have potential disaster on our hands. So - needless to say - I am stressed about finishing this thing and having it be absolutely perfect. I have edited it to within half an inch of its life. Poor paper.
On top of that I have major work stress going on. I have been here for two months and it seems like I have accomplished nothing. The partners are meeting tomorrow and I have to give my departmental status showing what has been accomplished and what the goals for the next 60 days are. I am trying to write the report and it is killing me. So far it reads like this: "I made a bunch of forms. I called a lot of people. I plan to do more in the next 60 days." Is it really possible that I have done nothing in 2 months? It sure feels that way right now, but I could swear that I have been busy. Maybe I should do less blogging and more working. Hmmm - there's a thought.
Next agenda item is the Treasure Valley Recruiter Association. I had the brilliant idea back in April that we needed a recruiter association in Boise and I was just the girl to get it going. So...I started it up and it is going really well. That is positive, but now there are all these things to do. Meetings to plan, locations to find, speakers to sign on, emails to send, tax id numbers to get, bank accounts to open, by-laws to come up with, forms to build for membership apps, websites to develop, mission statements, blah, blah, blah. I am just going to shut up about that one now.
Why do I do this to myself? I complain that I never get to do anything fun and then I go and create more work stuff for myself. I really need to stop that.
On to another topic - my weight. I have been working with a trainer for 8 weeks now. Two months of my life that have revolved around eating better, working out, not drinking lattes with whole milk twice a day, not eating Krispy Kreme for breakfast, getting up at 5:15 am to walk 3 miles and the lift weights at the gym. Two months of trying my best to stop being a fat, unhealthy, miserable, middle-aged person. Do you want to know what I have to show for that work? NADA. NOTHING. NOT A THING. I AM STILL FAT. I might be slightly more comfortable in my clothes, but they are the same size I was in when I was happily drinking my whole milk latte and noshing on a donut. I have lost some inches, but I still step on the scale and hear it scream in horror. I don't think this whole salad thing is all it's cracked up to be.
So, that is my rant for the day. I just feel sad and put upon this week. I feel stressed and ready to say to heck with it all. I know it will ease up. I know I have 2 short weeks of school left and then I can chill. I just don't really feel good about things right now. I feel mean and angry and bitchy and like a whiner.
I have two weeks of grad school left and this week is when I have to turn in my final project. The major, been working on it for 15 weeks, majority of my grade project. It just so happens that my professor for this class is an idiot who grades completely unfairly in some childish attempt to keep us lowly students in our place. I just know that I am going to lose points because he dislikes my word choice or thinks I should have started a new paragraph. Add that to the fact that all grading is subjective and we have potential disaster on our hands. So - needless to say - I am stressed about finishing this thing and having it be absolutely perfect. I have edited it to within half an inch of its life. Poor paper.
On top of that I have major work stress going on. I have been here for two months and it seems like I have accomplished nothing. The partners are meeting tomorrow and I have to give my departmental status showing what has been accomplished and what the goals for the next 60 days are. I am trying to write the report and it is killing me. So far it reads like this: "I made a bunch of forms. I called a lot of people. I plan to do more in the next 60 days." Is it really possible that I have done nothing in 2 months? It sure feels that way right now, but I could swear that I have been busy. Maybe I should do less blogging and more working. Hmmm - there's a thought.
Next agenda item is the Treasure Valley Recruiter Association. I had the brilliant idea back in April that we needed a recruiter association in Boise and I was just the girl to get it going. So...I started it up and it is going really well. That is positive, but now there are all these things to do. Meetings to plan, locations to find, speakers to sign on, emails to send, tax id numbers to get, bank accounts to open, by-laws to come up with, forms to build for membership apps, websites to develop, mission statements, blah, blah, blah. I am just going to shut up about that one now.
Why do I do this to myself? I complain that I never get to do anything fun and then I go and create more work stuff for myself. I really need to stop that.
On to another topic - my weight. I have been working with a trainer for 8 weeks now. Two months of my life that have revolved around eating better, working out, not drinking lattes with whole milk twice a day, not eating Krispy Kreme for breakfast, getting up at 5:15 am to walk 3 miles and the lift weights at the gym. Two months of trying my best to stop being a fat, unhealthy, miserable, middle-aged person. Do you want to know what I have to show for that work? NADA. NOTHING. NOT A THING. I AM STILL FAT. I might be slightly more comfortable in my clothes, but they are the same size I was in when I was happily drinking my whole milk latte and noshing on a donut. I have lost some inches, but I still step on the scale and hear it scream in horror. I don't think this whole salad thing is all it's cracked up to be.
So, that is my rant for the day. I just feel sad and put upon this week. I feel stressed and ready to say to heck with it all. I know it will ease up. I know I have 2 short weeks of school left and then I can chill. I just don't really feel good about things right now. I feel mean and angry and bitchy and like a whiner.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Scapegoats
Throughout my life I have had a lot of friends. I have had good friends, great friends, ok friends, bad friends and just about every category in between. I have had friends who I talk to every day and friends I only talk to once in a while. I have had periods of time where I only had a couple of people I would call a friend and other times where I had too many friends to keep up with. All in all I have felt very blessed in the friendship category.
About two years ago I lost my best friend. We were "sisters" for a decade and, as sometimes happens, our friendship changed to the point where it just ended. I still miss her every day and if I thought that reconnecting would bring good things to my life I would probably call her. I have learned, however, that sometimes the end of something is a good thing and you are both better off without the other and that is OK.
I am sitting here tonight, in my recliner, hockey on television, a paper to finish for school and instead of working on that paper I am stewing about the state of one particular friendship in my life. A friendship that has been slowly deteriorating despite my best efforts and how literally overnight I have gone from best friend to scapegoat.
See, my friend went through a nasty and surprising divorce that left her reeling. I stopped my world and put her at the front of the list. Homework waited, other friends waited, husband (in many instances) waited and I took care of my friend. I hurt for her, I hurt with her, and I wanted to make things better. We went out drinking, we went out dancing, we went out to heal her wounds and, I won't lie, it was a lot of fun for a while. Then she met a guy - a guy who hit on both of us at a bar and only "picked" one of us when I flashed my wedding ring.
Divorced less than a month she locked onto this guy like a drowning woman with a life raft. The night we met him she, rightfully, thought he was a player and she treated him with dripping disdain. I encouraged her to relax and just enjoy being flirted with - besides, it wasn't like she wanted to date the guy.
Famous last words.
Needless to say, now they are attached at the hip - and every other notable body part. The rest of the world can take it or go to hell. I spoke up to say that he is just as shady as she thought that first night, that gut feelings never lie, that something wasn't right about the guy and of course that just made me the enemy. I have always known better than to try to talk sense into someone being snowed by a used car salesman. EVERYONE knows better - but I spoke up anyway and I suppose being cut out of her life is my penance.
OK - so that is a little melodramatic. I wasn't entirely cut out. I was just relegated to a supporting role with only one speaking line and that line had better be something like "just so long as you are happy I am happy" or some other placating bullshit. Unfortunately, I am not really wired that way. I tend to say what I think and I guess that is where the scapegoat part comes in...
Saturday night my friend's daughter was babysitting for me and was going to spend the night. Upon my arrival home at 1:30 am she and my child were still awake so I offered her the option to go home to her own bed or sleep on my couch. She preferred her bed to my couch so we tried to call my friend and let her know about the change in plans. We couldn't reach my friend, but her daughter assured me that it was fine for her to be at home for a while alone and it wasn't an uncommon occurrance so we set out for their house.
We got there and when the daughter opened the garage door my friend's car was there. At that point I was confused because she was home yet had not been answering her phone so I called and left a "sorry for the change in plans and dropping your daughter off early" message. I indicated that I had "plans" at home *giggle giggle* and give me a call tomorrow. At no time did it ever occur to me that I was about to become Public Enemy Number 1 and the scapegoat for all that could potentially ever go wrong in this friend's relationship with her daughter, boyfriend, pope, preschool teacher, hair stylist and manicurist.
I left 2 messages for my friend on Sunday and never heard anything from her. That wasn't all that unusual since The Boyfriend entered the picture, but it was slightly irritating. Then today I stayed home sick and when I finally got out of bed and checked my email I had the most incredibly cruel email I have ever gotten. It said that I was a terrible person that I would drop her daughter off at home with no regard for what she might walk in on. I had no regard for her daughter's self esteem and I put her well being at risk for my own selfish purposes. I got to read that I am a horrible person and I put my own selfish desires ahead of the well being of a child. I got to read that she can't have "someone like me" in her life because a friend wouldn't do something so horrible.
I spent most of the day trying to call my friend who won't answer her phone or return my calls. I spent the rest of the day responding to her email. It took me about 3 hours to get it worded just right. You know what I mean - that mix of "I'm pissed but I want to acknowledge that you are pissed but I don't want to piss you off more but I am really pissed and want to tell you what I think." Now I am sitting here shocked, awed, confused, heart broken and, more than anything else, PISSED.
Let's break this down point by point:
1. She is dating some guy and is worried about how it might affect her daughter, but instead of TALKING to her daugter about it or SLOWING DOWN the relationship she found the perfect opportunity to blame any negative impact on me. Man...I better take notes because I might be able to learn enough skills from her that I can foist my student loan debt off onto some unsuspecting innocent.
2. She jumped headlong into a relationship with a guy who declared undying love and devotion after less than a month and when I spoke up saying, "isn't this a little fast?" I became the anti-Christ. I made him feel "unwelcome" and he refuses to hang out with me or my husband.
3. She demanded a birthday party so we threw a bash at which she was one of the guest's of honor and after 2 hours she left the party to go home because her boyfriend "didn't want to drive all the way to our house."
4. I love her and her daughter and being a responsible adult and parent myself I would NEVER do anything to purposefully put anyone in harm's way. I mean - she isn't a stupid kid - she knows the ways of the world and if finding her mother's boyfriend at their house is so terrible for the kid's well being why is the mother dating him in the first place?
5. I love that I am the horrible friend yet she doesn't even have the decency to CALL when she has a major issue. Just a few weeks ago she was trashing another person we know who used email to pass along a difficult message. We berated that person for copping out and taking the easy road and being a chicken shit. Then here we are - supposed best friends - and she does the same bullshit thing. I mean - pick up the phone or stop by for a chat for fuck's sake. You're a big girl - you have things that cruel to say to me at least say them to my fucking face.
I think what my friend is the most pissed off about is that she and her MAN were probably at home getting ready to get their freak on and I spoiled their little den of sin by bringing her daughter home early. All she had to do was answer the phone. I can show you 4 people who were there when we tried to call. But NO...instead I am a horrible person who disregards the safety and well being of children. I am a thoughtless slut who would rather abandon a poor, unsuspecting child just to get laid myself.
Are they still looking for a scapegoat for the assassination of Kennedy? How about high gas prices? Oh...I know...the Exxon Valdez...I will be the scapegoat for all of that and if I am really,really lucky maybe my friend can find a way to make me the scapegoat for both her divorces and the cost of her mortgage.
About two years ago I lost my best friend. We were "sisters" for a decade and, as sometimes happens, our friendship changed to the point where it just ended. I still miss her every day and if I thought that reconnecting would bring good things to my life I would probably call her. I have learned, however, that sometimes the end of something is a good thing and you are both better off without the other and that is OK.
I am sitting here tonight, in my recliner, hockey on television, a paper to finish for school and instead of working on that paper I am stewing about the state of one particular friendship in my life. A friendship that has been slowly deteriorating despite my best efforts and how literally overnight I have gone from best friend to scapegoat.
See, my friend went through a nasty and surprising divorce that left her reeling. I stopped my world and put her at the front of the list. Homework waited, other friends waited, husband (in many instances) waited and I took care of my friend. I hurt for her, I hurt with her, and I wanted to make things better. We went out drinking, we went out dancing, we went out to heal her wounds and, I won't lie, it was a lot of fun for a while. Then she met a guy - a guy who hit on both of us at a bar and only "picked" one of us when I flashed my wedding ring.
Divorced less than a month she locked onto this guy like a drowning woman with a life raft. The night we met him she, rightfully, thought he was a player and she treated him with dripping disdain. I encouraged her to relax and just enjoy being flirted with - besides, it wasn't like she wanted to date the guy.
Famous last words.
Needless to say, now they are attached at the hip - and every other notable body part. The rest of the world can take it or go to hell. I spoke up to say that he is just as shady as she thought that first night, that gut feelings never lie, that something wasn't right about the guy and of course that just made me the enemy. I have always known better than to try to talk sense into someone being snowed by a used car salesman. EVERYONE knows better - but I spoke up anyway and I suppose being cut out of her life is my penance.
OK - so that is a little melodramatic. I wasn't entirely cut out. I was just relegated to a supporting role with only one speaking line and that line had better be something like "just so long as you are happy I am happy" or some other placating bullshit. Unfortunately, I am not really wired that way. I tend to say what I think and I guess that is where the scapegoat part comes in...
Saturday night my friend's daughter was babysitting for me and was going to spend the night. Upon my arrival home at 1:30 am she and my child were still awake so I offered her the option to go home to her own bed or sleep on my couch. She preferred her bed to my couch so we tried to call my friend and let her know about the change in plans. We couldn't reach my friend, but her daughter assured me that it was fine for her to be at home for a while alone and it wasn't an uncommon occurrance so we set out for their house.
We got there and when the daughter opened the garage door my friend's car was there. At that point I was confused because she was home yet had not been answering her phone so I called and left a "sorry for the change in plans and dropping your daughter off early" message. I indicated that I had "plans" at home *giggle giggle* and give me a call tomorrow. At no time did it ever occur to me that I was about to become Public Enemy Number 1 and the scapegoat for all that could potentially ever go wrong in this friend's relationship with her daughter, boyfriend, pope, preschool teacher, hair stylist and manicurist.
I left 2 messages for my friend on Sunday and never heard anything from her. That wasn't all that unusual since The Boyfriend entered the picture, but it was slightly irritating. Then today I stayed home sick and when I finally got out of bed and checked my email I had the most incredibly cruel email I have ever gotten. It said that I was a terrible person that I would drop her daughter off at home with no regard for what she might walk in on. I had no regard for her daughter's self esteem and I put her well being at risk for my own selfish purposes. I got to read that I am a horrible person and I put my own selfish desires ahead of the well being of a child. I got to read that she can't have "someone like me" in her life because a friend wouldn't do something so horrible.
I spent most of the day trying to call my friend who won't answer her phone or return my calls. I spent the rest of the day responding to her email. It took me about 3 hours to get it worded just right. You know what I mean - that mix of "I'm pissed but I want to acknowledge that you are pissed but I don't want to piss you off more but I am really pissed and want to tell you what I think." Now I am sitting here shocked, awed, confused, heart broken and, more than anything else, PISSED.
Let's break this down point by point:
1. She is dating some guy and is worried about how it might affect her daughter, but instead of TALKING to her daugter about it or SLOWING DOWN the relationship she found the perfect opportunity to blame any negative impact on me. Man...I better take notes because I might be able to learn enough skills from her that I can foist my student loan debt off onto some unsuspecting innocent.
2. She jumped headlong into a relationship with a guy who declared undying love and devotion after less than a month and when I spoke up saying, "isn't this a little fast?" I became the anti-Christ. I made him feel "unwelcome" and he refuses to hang out with me or my husband.
3. She demanded a birthday party so we threw a bash at which she was one of the guest's of honor and after 2 hours she left the party to go home because her boyfriend "didn't want to drive all the way to our house."
4. I love her and her daughter and being a responsible adult and parent myself I would NEVER do anything to purposefully put anyone in harm's way. I mean - she isn't a stupid kid - she knows the ways of the world and if finding her mother's boyfriend at their house is so terrible for the kid's well being why is the mother dating him in the first place?
5. I love that I am the horrible friend yet she doesn't even have the decency to CALL when she has a major issue. Just a few weeks ago she was trashing another person we know who used email to pass along a difficult message. We berated that person for copping out and taking the easy road and being a chicken shit. Then here we are - supposed best friends - and she does the same bullshit thing. I mean - pick up the phone or stop by for a chat for fuck's sake. You're a big girl - you have things that cruel to say to me at least say them to my fucking face.
I think what my friend is the most pissed off about is that she and her MAN were probably at home getting ready to get their freak on and I spoiled their little den of sin by bringing her daughter home early. All she had to do was answer the phone. I can show you 4 people who were there when we tried to call. But NO...instead I am a horrible person who disregards the safety and well being of children. I am a thoughtless slut who would rather abandon a poor, unsuspecting child just to get laid myself.
Are they still looking for a scapegoat for the assassination of Kennedy? How about high gas prices? Oh...I know...the Exxon Valdez...I will be the scapegoat for all of that and if I am really,really lucky maybe my friend can find a way to make me the scapegoat for both her divorces and the cost of her mortgage.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Holidays and I don't seem to get along...
I've never met a holiday that didn't make me sick. Literally. I was sick on Christmas and got to spend the whole day in bed. Insert random holidays and we arrive at Easter. I was very excited because this Easter was the first year Drew would be old enough to really get excited about hunting for eggs. We bought 2 of the 18 packs and dyed them. We put together a great Easter basket and we were ready.
Alas...my sickly pattern struck again...I ended up waking up on Sunday morning not feeling so good. I spent most of the day trying to encourage myself to crawl out of bed - it never really worked. Drew and I watched movies and he played in his room a lot.
Poor, sweet boy - he really was sweet all day. I was miserable.
Needless to say, there was no Easter dinner, no Easter egg hunt and in the end NO EASTER.
When Eric got home from work he gave Drew the Easter basket, but that is all the poor kid got. It's no wonder I hate holidays - they always seem to go awry. That's without the bazillon of hard boiled Easter eggs I have to figure out what to do with.
As a side note - I called in sick to work on Monday and first thing this morning I went to the doctor. Turns out that I have strep throat. God bless whoever invented amoxicillan. The doctor gave me that super high dose stuff and it is amazing how fast it works. I am out of work one more day, but should be back on my game Thursday morning.
This strep thing sucks - can't yawn, can't eat, can't even swallow. I don't even want to tell you about what it feels like to sneeze - mainly because I don't want to remember...
Alas...my sickly pattern struck again...I ended up waking up on Sunday morning not feeling so good. I spent most of the day trying to encourage myself to crawl out of bed - it never really worked. Drew and I watched movies and he played in his room a lot.
Poor, sweet boy - he really was sweet all day. I was miserable.
Needless to say, there was no Easter dinner, no Easter egg hunt and in the end NO EASTER.
When Eric got home from work he gave Drew the Easter basket, but that is all the poor kid got. It's no wonder I hate holidays - they always seem to go awry. That's without the bazillon of hard boiled Easter eggs I have to figure out what to do with.
As a side note - I called in sick to work on Monday and first thing this morning I went to the doctor. Turns out that I have strep throat. God bless whoever invented amoxicillan. The doctor gave me that super high dose stuff and it is amazing how fast it works. I am out of work one more day, but should be back on my game Thursday morning.
This strep thing sucks - can't yawn, can't eat, can't even swallow. I don't even want to tell you about what it feels like to sneeze - mainly because I don't want to remember...
Thursday, March 2, 2006
Is procrastination a disease?
OK - so I know that there are a lot of horrible afflictions out there, but I would like to take this opportunity to shed some light on a horrible disease that we must work to identify a cure for...PROCRASTINATION.
As a sufferer of this horrible illness I would like to request that we organize a walk or a fundraiser of some kind. There are thousands of people out there who currently valiantly attempt to function while suffering through the throes of procrastination. There are those who find it difficult to achieve even the most menial task - they can't do laundry or dishes. They can't complete homework assignments. It's truly and completely tragic.
So, I ask you to join us in our fundraising efforts. Let's work together to raise one million dollars so at least one sufferer of procrastination can live out their life never needing to start or complete any tasks every again.
Thank you.
As a sufferer of this horrible illness I would like to request that we organize a walk or a fundraiser of some kind. There are thousands of people out there who currently valiantly attempt to function while suffering through the throes of procrastination. There are those who find it difficult to achieve even the most menial task - they can't do laundry or dishes. They can't complete homework assignments. It's truly and completely tragic.
So, I ask you to join us in our fundraising efforts. Let's work together to raise one million dollars so at least one sufferer of procrastination can live out their life never needing to start or complete any tasks every again.
Thank you.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
A Fairy Tale
A FAIRY TALE
Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a little neurotic, a little tough and a little wild - not so different from girls everywhere. Her whole life she believed that she would grow up, meet the man of her dreams in some incredibly romantic way and then live happily ever after. Like Cinderella she would get a gorgeous prince that came and rescued her from mean people and housework. Life had other plans.
Life threw distractions at her - tried to fake her out with every man but the right one. First, there was the one she was in love with the idea of being in love with. Then life sent her the one that she really wanted to love but just couldn't find the place in her heart for. He moved away only to reappear years later and propose marriage. She didn't have a place for him then either.
Next came the one she thought she loved and who ended up being a good friend instead. She spent almost 7 years with that one and learned what it meant to be loved and hated all at the same time. Somewhere in there came the one that reminded her she was sexy and beautiful - followed immediately by the one that was the definition of wrong place, wrong time and whose memory would forever remind her of what it felt like to be a cheater. Then came the one who broke her heart for the first time in her life - she could have done without that one.
At this point it seemed utterly ridiculous to even entertain the possibility that true, life-altering love was out there. Why did she care about some smelly boy loving her anyway? Aren't they from Mars? The inner feminist bellowed - "I don't need some beer swilling, boob ogling Martian to give me self-worth! Me and my self-worth are just fine on our own, thank you very much!" She settled in and decided that love was not all it was cracked up to be and besides, sex and the single life were a lot more fun anyway.
So off she went - to the personal ads, to the bars, on one notable occasion to the tattoo parlor, to anywhere guys congregated and she dragged a friend or two into the fray with her. Then came "the corner."
How bizarre to pass by a corner in the middle of the night and see him there. He was all that she imagined when she was younger and Lloyd Dobbler was the perfect man (OK so Lloyd Dobbler is still the perfect man, but that is beside the point). He was tall. He had dark hair and gorgeous eyes. He had broad shoulders and a nice ass. He must be homeless or schizophrenic. Setting her cynicism aside she thought, "If the picture in my head of what the perfect guy looks like can come to life and be standing here in front of me with no visible defects then maybe true love can exist, too." So, smart or not, she made her move. Granted - it wasn't the typical move, but at least there was still that part of her willing to put herself out there and attempt to snare her very own boob ogling Martian. That one-night-stand turned into many nights and eventually something else.
Flash forward a few years. The man of her dreams is now her husband and the world continues to turn. Some days things are all about just loving each other. Most days are about just living. Work, school, bills, kid...RESPONSIBILITIES. She never believed those Calgon commercials, but now she lives them - minus the giant bathtub full of bubbles. Hot baths are no longer about candles, bubbles and a glass of wine. Hot baths are now just an opportunity to to shave her legs without having to balance on one leg.
Sometimes another life winks at her from off in the distance and she wonders what it would be like to visit...and then he looks at her. He looks at her and she remembers what that first smile felt like. The way her whole body went weak the first time their lips touched. The night he gave her roses and told her he loved her for the first time. The way they got up one morning and got married. They way they sat up smoking and drinking wine while they made the scariest (and best) decision of their lives.
Everything she needs is in that look. It tells her that she is beautiful. That she is desired. That she is capable and smart. It reminds her that she would be just fine on her own, but is the luckiest woman in the world to have him standing beside her. That look tells her she is funny and friendly and amazing for her quirks.
She may not have had the prince take her away from mean people and housework, but she got strength and courage and fearlessness. She got beauty and passion and wonder. She got the daily reminder that the world hasn't gone crazy because love is out there - even if sometimes it is standing on a street corner in the middle of the night!
~THE END
Once upon a time there was a girl. She was a little neurotic, a little tough and a little wild - not so different from girls everywhere. Her whole life she believed that she would grow up, meet the man of her dreams in some incredibly romantic way and then live happily ever after. Like Cinderella she would get a gorgeous prince that came and rescued her from mean people and housework. Life had other plans.
Life threw distractions at her - tried to fake her out with every man but the right one. First, there was the one she was in love with the idea of being in love with. Then life sent her the one that she really wanted to love but just couldn't find the place in her heart for. He moved away only to reappear years later and propose marriage. She didn't have a place for him then either.
Next came the one she thought she loved and who ended up being a good friend instead. She spent almost 7 years with that one and learned what it meant to be loved and hated all at the same time. Somewhere in there came the one that reminded her she was sexy and beautiful - followed immediately by the one that was the definition of wrong place, wrong time and whose memory would forever remind her of what it felt like to be a cheater. Then came the one who broke her heart for the first time in her life - she could have done without that one.
At this point it seemed utterly ridiculous to even entertain the possibility that true, life-altering love was out there. Why did she care about some smelly boy loving her anyway? Aren't they from Mars? The inner feminist bellowed - "I don't need some beer swilling, boob ogling Martian to give me self-worth! Me and my self-worth are just fine on our own, thank you very much!" She settled in and decided that love was not all it was cracked up to be and besides, sex and the single life were a lot more fun anyway.
So off she went - to the personal ads, to the bars, on one notable occasion to the tattoo parlor, to anywhere guys congregated and she dragged a friend or two into the fray with her. Then came "the corner."
How bizarre to pass by a corner in the middle of the night and see him there. He was all that she imagined when she was younger and Lloyd Dobbler was the perfect man (OK so Lloyd Dobbler is still the perfect man, but that is beside the point). He was tall. He had dark hair and gorgeous eyes. He had broad shoulders and a nice ass. He must be homeless or schizophrenic. Setting her cynicism aside she thought, "If the picture in my head of what the perfect guy looks like can come to life and be standing here in front of me with no visible defects then maybe true love can exist, too." So, smart or not, she made her move. Granted - it wasn't the typical move, but at least there was still that part of her willing to put herself out there and attempt to snare her very own boob ogling Martian. That one-night-stand turned into many nights and eventually something else.
Flash forward a few years. The man of her dreams is now her husband and the world continues to turn. Some days things are all about just loving each other. Most days are about just living. Work, school, bills, kid...RESPONSIBILITIES. She never believed those Calgon commercials, but now she lives them - minus the giant bathtub full of bubbles. Hot baths are no longer about candles, bubbles and a glass of wine. Hot baths are now just an opportunity to to shave her legs without having to balance on one leg.
Sometimes another life winks at her from off in the distance and she wonders what it would be like to visit...and then he looks at her. He looks at her and she remembers what that first smile felt like. The way her whole body went weak the first time their lips touched. The night he gave her roses and told her he loved her for the first time. The way they got up one morning and got married. They way they sat up smoking and drinking wine while they made the scariest (and best) decision of their lives.
Everything she needs is in that look. It tells her that she is beautiful. That she is desired. That she is capable and smart. It reminds her that she would be just fine on her own, but is the luckiest woman in the world to have him standing beside her. That look tells her she is funny and friendly and amazing for her quirks.
She may not have had the prince take her away from mean people and housework, but she got strength and courage and fearlessness. She got beauty and passion and wonder. She got the daily reminder that the world hasn't gone crazy because love is out there - even if sometimes it is standing on a street corner in the middle of the night!
~THE END
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